Of Outlaws and Empires
by FelicityJay
Summary: Three months after the Second Battle of Hoover Dam, Lola is placed back in charge of her own empire: New Vegas. But some Mojave outlaws, as well as those much closer to her, have other ideas. Sequel to It's A Sin. F!CourierXBenny. Dark & sexual themes.
1. The Empire

****Author's Note: ****So I recently (really recently) finished It's A Sin To Tell A Lie, and honestly, it got me back into the Fallout mood. I'd always intended to write a sequel, and after all that lovely Downloadable Content that came out last year, it's not as though I've been short of ideas … but I've been trying to hit on something that really … fits. I think I've found that something.

And here it is; I have no real idea where this will lead so I won't say anything on that front. I learned my lesson from It's A Sin, in that no matter how hard I try, there will always be those things I just can't control. So welcome! If you're read It's A Sin, you'll have some idea of what to expect – if you haven't, hi there! This story will most likely go to some dark places, maybe darker given that I've been indulging in a spot of transgressive fiction as of late. That said, I'd like to know what you make of this ... it probably won't be the most action packed ride, but it's a little something, and I'm getting back into the swing of things, now. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One – The Empire<strong>

Her hands traced the marks, the two diagonal holes, pale pink and white, now, where they had once been dark red with her blood. When it had first happened, she had refused to let it get the better of her. When the seams of herself had started to come undone and her blood seeped through shirt after shirt, so that after a while, she silently promised only to wear dark colors, she had continued on as if it was nothing. As if recovering from gunshot wounds was nothing, even though she had endured so much worse before. These two bullet holes that had ripped through her light, firm flesh, were now becoming scars like the ones on her forehead that she kept hidden. Like the deep gouge in her left leg, made by a blind Deathclaw. Like the teeth marks left on the inside of her right thigh that she hadn't told anyone about. That Benny never asked her about. A secret that both of them kept to themselves.

Lola could map out every feature of herself just from her scars. In a line up, she could pick out her chest, her legs, her arms, even her back, just by looking at her scars. She wasn't cut out for anything much anymore, or at least, this was how it made her feel when she looked at herself in the mirror, the product of an incongruous life. Her mixing business with pleasure.

Along her forearms, too, were the faint marks where small holes had scabbed over, and the scabs had broken off, time and time again, causing the wounds to bleed, scab, repeat. These were the same marks, the same pattern, as girls and Gomorrah would display as they stripped. Where any man paying for a girl's services could look to one side of his head or the other and see her arms stretching up, rows and rows of these same, faint scars where she'd pushed the needle in deep and administered the Med-X. Only Lola didn't want to believe she did that for her own pleasure. She had only taken to using because the pain in her stomach had been so intense while she had been healing.

And now, here she was. Her scars mostly invisible, all of them covered by a dress that clung tightly to her figure, something she hadn't lost. Sleeves hiding away the small scars on her arms that she hoped would one day fade. Stuck on her mirror was a small photograph, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, of a woman from years before. She didn't know the woman's name. The woman had light, platinum hair the same as Lola's, smiling a bright red lipstick smile. If nothing else, she could smile like that whenever she wanted to. It didn't matter how she was feeling.

"Now don't you look every inch the barn burner, doll," she had seen him creeping up, steady and suave, behind her reflection, but for a while, she had been ignoring him in favor of her own vanity, making sure she looked her absolute best for … her grand entrance. Putting on that red lipstick smile that she couldn't quite feel, Lola turned to face him.

"I'd say I'm just about ready for this, wouldn't you?" typical of her to seek approval when she couldn't make a decision for herself. She watched as his eyes played across her figure, her hips, her waist, admiring the dress or … something else. But she couldn't escape the idea that whatever had changed between them wasn't over with yet. Things weren't fixed. This was her own fault. But, for the most part, what she and Benny had had for so long had seemed like just sex anyway. Lust, desire and perhaps an intrinsic need, a dependency. But never love or affection, or anything much else.

"I'd say so, pussycat. You look ring-a-ding, baby," how many times had she heard him say that? Still, red lipstick mouth wide and smiling, she took a step towards him, her thighs bound together by the fabric covering her legs. A slinky number left untouched in some storage closet she'd happened upon. She could have been any pre-War actress or sex goddess, but she didn't much feel like one. "A real beetle."

"A what now?" she had heard him use a number of terms that she might have thought strange had she not grown so used to them. This was one she had never before heard.

"Nothing, honey baby. You look great," of course he was going to tell her that – it wasn't as though there was anything else he could say to her now they were both confined in the elevator together, about to do something that she had never really thought would happen. Sure, there had been weeks – months – of endless preparation, even when Arcade had told her that she needed to stay put. Rest. She needed to calm down, not seek revenge. They all knew what had happened last time she had done that. But for her, it was one or the other; she could either set off across the Mojave yet again, in search of whoever had shot her down this time, or stay and occupy herself inside the Lucky 38. But staying in bed and allowing herself to heal had never really been an option.

"So do you," fake, red lipstick smile. Whether he looked good or not, it was something she had to say in order to please him. She would have said it regardless of her true opinion. Maybe later, she could tell him the truth, but not while they had appearances to keep up. Not while they had to be happy for all the drinkers and gamblers and nomads just looking for a good time. Either he believed what she said, or he didn't. Lola didn't much care.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, and relatively quickly, considering the elevator was sliding down the entire length of the Luck 38. Once it ground to a halt, Lola found herself looking forward to the moment she could get out again.

Inside the casino was the kind of silence that hung about rooms filled with anticipation. In there, only bartenders and waiters, dealers and cashiers waited, and for some reason, Lola still couldn't bring herself to see them as people, she had spent too long apart from them, making no contact. Instead, she was forced to watch as Benny spoke to them, smooth as ever, a little flirtatious with the waitresses, even, because that always had been what he was good at. Talking. It didn't seem fair that they appeared to respect, and like, him that much more than they did her. It was her empire. This was her world, now. But she wasn't concerned with the lives of her staff because her own seemed to preoccupy her so much.

"You ready, doll?" she didn't respond, this time, just nodded. The two young wasters she had put in charge of the coat check room – not that anyone would be likely to bring a coat – were at the door, ready. She watched them as she climbed the stairs, Benny going back to what he had been doing, before looking back at her every so often for a sign, a signal, standing in front of the elevator doors. He wasn't their official greeter. But trust him to want some share of the limelight.

From her vantage point, she could see every kind of person step through the doors, with some being turned away due to lack of space or funds. She had forgotten what the official order had been. Booze would be extortionate. Games would be difficult, but not impossible to win. It was everything that made Vegas Vegas, but the Lucky 38 was that much more enthralling, because almost no-one had been able to set foot inside before.

So instead, they looked around in what appeared to be awe, all of them taking in the high ceiling, the vintage upholstery. All of them whispering to one another, not even speaking, smoothing out creases in their dresses and suits because they felt inadequate. She watched them examine every inch of the place, their eyes scanning and taking it all in, taking their time to process it. It was an ideal situation, really. Nobody was acting out of turn. They were led to where they needed to be and didn't question it.

"Welcome," she had wholly expected the crowd to be somewhat unruly, and yet as soon as they heard her voice calling out, even the whispers were silenced. Yet the closer she came to the stairs, the smaller the distance between herself and them, the more she began to wonder whether or not she should have gotten blind drunk before doing this. "To the Lucky Thirty-Eight, the finest casino in New Vegas," if only she could have seen Benny's face at that moment. She couldn't even allow the smirk to cross her face, she was meant to be every inch the actress. Platinum blonde and red and white. No visible scars or wounds. Here, she had to be exciting and glamorous and feminine. Easy. "Drink. Gamble. But most importantly, take pleasure in what has been built here for you." A smile. Applause that was in no way organic, but rather stiff and awkward. She bowed out and found her seat beside the bar, just waiting for Benny to join her, drink in hand, slipping his arm about her small waist, her silky gown, to mark his territory before anyone else could get close. There was a reason, after all, why they were in the VIP lounge.

The drinking started quickly. Vodka, she supposed. She had developed enough of a taste for it. Vodka, something strong, to tranquilize her just enough, a job that wine could not do. Unless she laced it with the Med-X she didn't have on her person, first. And sure enough, Benny slid in beside her swiftly, before anyone else could take the seat.

"Quite the turn out, huh?" she really wasn't directing her question at him.

"This joint is crazy, doll. Just crazy," she supposed it was.

"Mm," this was how most of their conversations tended to go. Just when he would start to show rare enthusiasm for something, she would lose all interest. Now, she was swilling the vodka around in her glass, watching it, listless.

"Just for tonight, pussycat," she could feel him leaning in closer, but wasn't too sure of what to do about it. "You can keep your paws off the gasoline, hey?" that was something she wouldn't be able to guarantee. His grip around her waist tightened, his hand inching slowly down her torso, which failed to excite her, but she started breathing heavily all the same, acting. She was too distracted to think about sex now. While carnality was something she maybe couldn't exist without, she had too many other things to think about in the mean time. She let out a breathy, false giggle. Leaned into Benny even more, just as men and women, the members, started to surround them.

"We'll see," she grinned, taking another quick swig of the vodka before turning towards her guests, mostly men and women a decade older than she was. She didn't think she'd be laying off the gasoline, as he called it, any time soon.

She took her time with the first glass of vodka. The second slid down her throat quickly, and it burned on the way down, but that didn't matter. The third, the fourth and the fifth had come to the table and gone quickly enough, and only then, when she was starting to feel the familiar relief that only drunkenness could bring, did she register that she had been drinking it without any mixers.

Some time after that, she was sure Benny must have talked to the bartender because he refused to serve her anything but water. Perhaps she told him 'screw you.' Or perhaps she told him 'I own this place, so serve me, now.' She wouldn't ever remember. Perhaps he gave in, because somehow, she became drunk enough to start up inappropriate conversations, revealing her conquests. Shady dealings she had been involved in. Revealing small aspects of her past that nobody needed to know about. She told her guests, none of them quite so refined themselves but trying desperately hard to be, about her time as a Legion captive.

"And then some _bas_tard," the scene, late in the evening when enough gamblers were too drunk and tired to care, but more of them were in the lounge, must have been playing out in slow motion to anyone watching. "Three months ago, some com_plete_ _bas_tard shot me," she was inclining her head towards Benny without even knowing it. "And you know what?" this was where people started to lean in, wanting to know some perverse secret, something private they didn't need to understand. Instead of being repelled, disgusted by her drunken behavior, now, they were invested in Lola and her story. "_I_ thought it was _him_." It was only Lola that started roaring with laughter, the hem of her white dress coming down around her breasts at this point. Only Lola was thrown back in her seat, her head tipped up towards the ceiling, eyes closed, red lipstick mouth wide open, teeth red with greasy make-up that had smeared on them because she was barely able to control herself anymore.

It was as though everyone knew what was coming next. As if Benny wanted to stop it from happening but was powerless to do anything, because Lola had lost herself completely, and anything he did to try and drag her away would come across wrong. And Lola, blissfully and drunkenly unaware of it, now had a woman in her late thirties by the arm and was whispering frantically to her, signaling over to the man in the checkered coat every once in a while. Lost. Gone. Unable to act any part now she was drunk. It didn't occur to her just how much she had been doing it lately.

It was numbing as chems, but less addictive. And living in the Lucky 38 and all, she could get quick access to the stuff whenever she wanted it.

"And you _know_, a long time ago … I forget when," she noticed how she was being wrenched from her seat, but didn't know who was doing it. She stumbled on the hem of her gown, and one of her heels snapped and there she was, a spectacle in the middle of the floor, the VIP lounge, guests staring at her in shock and awe, Lola swimming, drowning in a pool of white satin. "He actually _did_ shoot me."


	2. The Problems

**A/N: **Not so much an apology as an explanation. This fic is labeled up as adventure. There's a reason for that. Unfortunately, NaNoWriMo hasn't long ended, so I'm still going through the pacing motions, same as I do most Novembers (writing 200k+ kind of calls for a slower pace, I suppose). So ... there _will_ be adventure. And it should be coming up very soon. Anyway, this chapter is filler more than anything else - filler that's taken _way_ too long to write due to a whole host of lovely distractions. Enjoy. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two – The Problems<strong>

While she was asleep, she was silent, and while she was silent, it was all he could do to look at her. It was all he could do to stare, and to think about how much she appeared to have changed. It wasn't as though he was no longer attracted to her, just that he felt powerless whenever he was around her, not because she had the tendency to try and control him, but more because even if no-one else could, he could see how intent she was on destroying herself.

And half a year ago, he maybe might have been all too happy for her to do it. He would have been able to watch her drink herself into the ground or die, comatose, from an overdose of Med-X. But Benny had come to accept his position in her world. In her life. And it wasn't all that bad. Instead of having to get rid of her, all he had to do was upstage her, and now, she hardly ever seemed to care about that. Some time ago, sure, it would have bothered her, but now, she seemed preoccupied with … some cause. He didn't know exactly what it was.

Every so often, barely conscious, she would turn her head from one side of the pillow to the other, and he would just watch her. Her eyes would open for a split second and then close again. She would stare up at him without seeing his face and then she would disappear again and he would hear her breathing softly, gasping in her sleep. Or sometimes more than that. Sometimes she would mutter names he didn't know and felt threatened by. Perhaps, and this was something that almost always crossed his mind, she was not muttering the names of her previous lovers but instead the people who had wronged her. This had happened before, after all. And while it meant that these people had caused her to suffer, it didn't much matter because it at least put Benny's mind at ease.

"I just want ..." her hand brushed against his arm weakly, and it took Benny a while to figure out whether or not she was actually waking up. "I just want … things to go back to the way … they were," her voice was breathy and soft, the same way as she whispered in his ear before she went down on him sometimes. She seemed to wait, almost daring him to answer, to respond, her eyes half closed but still, at least, aware. "Is that … is that too much to ask?" her blonde hair fell around her head in waves on the pillow, and now, she was looking directly at him, but she didn't move. She still had on her dress, that slinky little one-of-a-kind number.

"Who's to say, baby?" and who was to say? Everything just seemed too different, now. Half a year ago, he was intent on getting his hands on Vegas, and nothing would stop him from doing it. Somewhere along the line, he'd stepped back and let her take it all, and even now, he couldn't figure out why. Vacant hope, maybe? The thought that she would let him have his share, and he couldn't deny that she had. That while she could barely move on account of her injuries, he had taken a more active role than she would have ever wanted him to. Benny didn't know why he started leaning into her in that moment. Maybe she just looked pitiful, staring up at him like that.

"We used to have so much fun," he wasn't sure that fun was the right word for it. No matter what she thought about it, he knew that he had always been wondering whether or not she would kill him. Every time they had sex, he could barely sleep. She'd wear him down and eventually he'd drift off, not knowing whether he'd wake up in the morning. But he always did, and somewhere along the line, sure, he supposed that started to thrill him. "Do you remember that, Ben-man?"

"Sure do, pussycat," he nodded slightly, almost laying down next to her, now, as she rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She might not have had a care in the world, the way she was looking up, now, sober, if only just, but he couldn't forget about how the rest of the evening had gone. About before that. About everything that had happened. "But you got all up close and personal with the General, remember, doll?"

"Yeah … but I had to," if it was any other time, she wouldn't have been telling him this. If they had been in any other place, at any other time, she would have scowled at him and walked away, refusing to respond, or else given him some excuse. Told him he'd spent enough quality time with several of the girls from Gomorrah before she came along, and maybe this was true, but it had been _before _they'd met. And this was without taking into account the guys she'd been all too happy to let him know about. It worked both ways, after all. "I told you before, I needed them on our side. We still need their protection."

"Honey baby, we got a whole army of Securitrons out-"

"I'm not so sure we'll have them for long." Maybe she was playing with him as she rolled onto her side and curled up. As she fell off the bed, not looking as graceful as she might have at one point or another, and started to reach for the buttons on the back of her dress, like she'd never said a word. It didn't make sense to him. _She _didn't make sense to him. Not the way she'd been behaving lately.

"Then why'd we get this joint swinging again, pussycat?" quick as anything, she shrugged off her dress, standing almost naked with her back to him. The skin on her back was clearer than the rest, he knew, free of all the scars for some reason, but all the same, it was something he didn't much think about. He didn't ask about it either.

"If people start to think we're in trouble, they won't come," her voice was too placid. She had sobered up too much. She had taken down a glass of water and passed out almost immediately after, but for some reason, Benny suspected she was either telling him this now because her judgement was still clouded, or because she felt as though she had a lot of making up to do. Perhaps both. "And if people don't come, we don't get anything back from our little … business venture." As she turned to face him, Benny withdrew his lighter from the chest pocket of his suit, feeling uncomfortable being fully dressed while she wasn't. It wouldn't have been the first time it had happened. He swore the woman spent more time out of her clothes than she did in them – some things, at least, never changed.

"You saying we're in deep water, baby?"

"Something like that." She didn't seem concerned as she bent over, looking through the night stand and pulling out a garment he had seen her wear too many times. The black lace and animal print might have excited him once, but now, it didn't do much at all. She was acting as though she hadn't just told him something important. Something _heavy_. As though tonight was the same as any other night. She was acting too casually, pretending that she hadn't just embarrassed him in front of a casino full of Vegas' high and mighty, the upper classes, big-leaguers from all over. Like she hadn't just caused them to look at him with such hatred like he'd never seen before.

She slipped on the night dress, but he couldn't figure out why that was. He knew what came next, and sure enough, she placed her knees on either side of him, forcing him to stay in one place and leaning in close, so that when he next breathed out, the smoke drifted against the side of her neck and disappeared into her white-blonde hair.

"You've certainly brightened up, doll," She didn't answer as she started moving her hips, pressing herself closer to him. Instead of using her hands to support herself, she used them to grasp onto the collar of his jacket, slipping it down over his shoulders. "But what did you mean about Yes Man, honey baby?" still no answer. His voice was muffled against her skin as she brought her face in close, her lips crashing against his so that when he breathed out again, this time, the smoke vanished inside her mouth and she didn't seem to care.

Sometimes, there was no real point in trying to argue with her, she would always be the one to have her way. Sometimes, it was all he could do to lean back against the head board and allow her to unfasten his tie, to unbutton his shirt, her lips following a path downwards that they had followed plenty of times before. Still, at least he didn't have to do all of the work, here. At least he could allow his curiosity to peak, even as she fumbled with his belt and unzipped his pants. Even as she was doing all this, Benny couldn't focus; not for the first time, he was feeling as though things were about to go very, very wrong.


	3. The Things You Didn't Want To Know

**A/N: **So the laptop's fixed, and hopefully I'll be getting back into the swing of things soon enough. Thanks everyone who has reviewed, favourite or alerted this! It's much appreciated, especially as I don't think this is as strong as It's A Sin yet, but that doesn't mean it won't be. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three – The Things You Didn't Want To Know<strong>

Waking up, Lola could hear what was maybe a beeping sound, constant and irritating but familiar all the same. She recognized it as being a similar sound to the RobCo terminals she had hacked – as though someone, or something, was uploading and processing termlink protocols.

And it was getting louder.

She didn't remember being naked, but underneath the sheets that were bunched around her waist and torso, she was. Benny's arm, draped around her stomach, held her firmly in place. She looked back at him, his eyes still closed, chest rising and falling against her the way it always did when they woke up like this, and for some reason, she felt at least a little grateful for what she had this time around. It was easy enough for her to take him for granted, but sometimes, she could still enjoy his company. His hair was a mess, and she found this amusing considering he worked so hard to keep it in place most other times, but she rolled away from him anyway and tried to pry herself free of his grip.

Already, Lola had some idea of what it was that was going on, and only now did it hit her that things could easily go very, very wrong.

The first thing she could reach was Benny's white shirt, so she pulled it on and fastened the buttons, pushing her hair roughly out of her face. The room they were in rarely got cold, but Lola felt herself shiver – she hadn't forgotten what she had told him last night, her assumption based only on what she'd heard after she was done with General Oliver. Now, she knew. Now, she was even a little scared.

The screen was showing up the same as any RobCo terminal would, but instead of being less than twelve inches across, this screen was huge and she had to tip her head back to look up at it in its entirety. The bright green coding was packed tightly onto it, the top layers constantly being pushed out by the bottom layers that were appearing letter by letter, symbol by symbol. Her face was bathed in this green light as she stared ahead.

She was running out of time, she supposed.

It was, after all, the first time something like this had happened since she had killed House, and she was starting to regret doing it. Even if she had felt her reasons were justified at the time, now, they seemed like nothing. Now, she had no justification.

She watched the code filling up the screen, line by line, for a short while. She didn't know what it would mean for them once Yes Man came back, or woke up, but the idea of it caused her to feel uncomfortable, on edge, and she knew that things would eventually change. This was the most unsettling thing of all. The prospect of such drastic change. What Lola needed was a genuine plan, something she had forgotten about in the hope that everything would just plain work out. No such luck. Things never worked out that way for her.

"You're up early, pussycat," she smelled the smoke before he slipped an arm around her waist, perhaps feeling closer to her since last night, which she couldn't deny, was strange.

"I guess I am," she didn't even look back at him as he approached her, she simply folded her arms across her chest and continued to stare up at the screen. While there was no change in its status, Lola was still drawn to it, still watching closely, focusing, even as he pulled her in close and brought his lips to her neck. Even as she heard him, his breath heavy in her ear, she couldn't focus on what it was he was doing, or trying to do to her. "You remember what I told you last night, Ben-man?" no matter how she tried to conceal it, her voice trembled a little, but no doubt he mistook it for pleasure over anxiety.

"What's that, doll?" nothing. No reaction. She had gotten out of bed early and she was staring up at the screen, switching herself off to him, but he was still ignoring this.

"I think we're about to get what's coming to us," a phrase that stopped him in his tracks, and she didn't pretend to be blind to the reasons why. They had both done things that they figured they would eventually be punished for. And while at one point or another she would have liked to believe that his list of sins far surpassed her own, but now, she knew this was not so. They were about equal, and she figured that maybe she was pulling ahead of him now. After all, what were would-be murders now? He shot her, she punished him by sleeping with General Oliver behind his back. Whatever he did to her, she would bring back on him eventually. "We'd better start packing."

"You still a little mish-mash, honey baby?" she rolled her eyes, not that he could see her do it as her hair fell into her face. She finally managed to tear her eyes away from the screen , and instead fell against Benny, because it was not as though there was much else she could do. He was holding her a little too tightly, as though he suspected something, and would not let go of her until she told him exactly what it was he needed to know.

"I'm fine now," the buzzword. Whatever she needed to say to get him to believe her. "Same as I was fine last night. I guess … just, I figured this couldn't last," he gripped her tighter, most likely thinking that she was talking about their relationship, though she still failed to see why he cared. Even if everything went down the drain, he still had the Tops to return to … unless Vegas changed, too.

"Then what's all the hoo-ha been about, doll? Us putting on a show?" alarm. Fear. She didn't quite know what it was, but he didn't like what she was telling him, although he had at least stopped trying to coax her back into bed. Not that that would have been such a bad idea after all, even if her mind was somewhere else right now. She was good enough at faking to get by.

"More like me being hopeful," in some ways, it was easier to tell him things like this when they were close – physically close, at least. She could make these admissions because she had her head resting on his shoulder, even though his body was tense, he was set on edge. He was wary of what she was going to do or say, but since when had that concerned her? He was almost always wary of her. "After I got shot … there didn't seem like much point anymore. But we'd gotten so far, couldn't go back, you know, Ben-man?" sure he knew. He would have done the same thing in her position, or at least, she liked to think he would have done; the prospect of earning more caps than they knew what to do with always had played a large part in the decision to reopen the Lucky 38. The rest … Lola had just hoped that by opening the place up to strangers she'd somehow feel less alone, less vulnerable. She hadn't forgotten that House's corpse was still inside. Everything that could get at her now, everything that could harm her was inside the Lucky 38 as well, so the thought of locking herself up with it was more than she could bear. And the thought of continuing to travel wasn't such a good idea, either, not now that she knew there were people out there who actually wanted her dead.

"So I take it you're not really digging this whole scene, pussycat?" something like that, she supposed. How typical that she always wanted what she couldn't have.

"What I'm not digging is how I don't know what's really going to happen to us. Ben-man, I don't want to go anywhere," she twisted against him, and in and instant, his grip on her slackened, as though he could tell what it was she wanted now. She couldn't stay there all day. There was more of a need for her to move on than a desire. "But we might not even have a choice in the matter." She didn't even look back at him as she pulled away, still wearing his shirt, awake enough, now, to know what it was that she wanted, even if she knew it would do her no good. It didn't much matter, because he was going to follow her. But at least she had him distracted, maybe fearful, maybe curious, maybe a little of both.

A part of her wondered why she even bothered sleeping up here when she was so much more comfortable in the presidential suite anyway. Everything she owned was there. Everything was that much more private, she could do what she wanted behind a series of closed doors rather than being in the middle of a room that looped back on itself, with windows that stretched up into the high ceiling and down to the floor. And it was that much more familiar, too. Always, she'd remember everything she'd been through before, everything that had happened in each room.

Not to mention she kept her Med-X locked in a wardrobe that nobody could get inside.

Even as she stepped out of the elevator into the relative darkness of the suite, not so much dusty anymore, but still looking eerily untouched, in spite of the fact that it had been lived in for quite some time, she could only think of this. Even as she took a detour, as she turned towards the bathroom instead of going directly to her room, she could calm herself by thinking it would be soon. Things weren't looking to get any better anytime soon, so she had to figure out her own ways of easing the strain this new life was putting on her. This life away from adventure and … sure, she supposed distraction.

Typical of her to always want what she couldn't have.

She bent over the tub placed at the very end of the room, hidden by a long teal curtain bunched up on one end of its rail, showing her that somebody had used the bath before. She couldn't blame them, really. She didn't bother turning the tap inscribed with a tiny, cursive 'h', only the cold one, letting it run through the system long enough that it turned almost icy. Leaving it running once she was satisfied by its temperature. Returning to her room, the place nobody else was allowed to sleep, the place where she and Benny had fucked more times than she cared to count, and uncovered the key that might have looked like any other, only she knew what it was for.

A couple of thin, glass syringes were all she took from the wardrobe that she unlocked, tapping them lightly with the edge of her nail to make sure the contents were good enough. She needed this. This was what she always told herself when she reached inside and pulled out what she guessed might be slowly killing her, but she didn't much want to care.

It wouldn't take long for him to find her, shutting the door wouldn't even do enough good. She briefly toyed with the idea of shooting up before she even got into the bath, and allowed Benny's shirt to fall to the floor as she waited at the edge of the tub, the white ceramic basin slowly filling with cool water. The heat of the Mojave had nothing to do with it. She wasn't planning on bathing in water as cold as she could get it because she was too hot. The real reason was something she had picked up, found in a book kept close to House, or the screen that has represented all that was left in him anyway. The book had lost its dust cover, or maybe House had had it removed, she had never much cared; the short passage about a starlet, a woman more beautiful and famous than anything she could imagine lowering herself into a basin full of ice cubes had been enough to enthral Lola. It was supposed to keep her skin firm and her body looking young, and so close to thirty, this was exactly what she wanted. _Thirty_. Once, it might have been considered a reasonable age, but not for someone like her. Lola wasn't ignorant of the fact that she was lucky to have lived this long.

As soon as the water reached an acceptable level, she turned the tap back on itself and didn't even brace herself before stepping in. It was not so bad. It was no real shock, even if she had gotten warm during the night, hot and sticky and sweaty, but this was no worse than it might have been had she stayed outside. First, her legs. Her knees buckled and her thighs dipped, too, her hips, her chest and her shoulders. She was still holding the needles, leaving one arm outside the tub as she went, glancing across her flesh for a vein or two. Enough.

This was, perhaps, how people found themselves waking up after having organs removed.

Pain wasn't an issue. It wasn't a problem. It was the heady feeling, her body going periodically numb before every nerve ending setting themselves alight. Her thoughts and inhibitions blurred, broken streams of consciousness swirling above her. Dark eyes half-closed, blonde hair hanging outside the tub and her head resting against the edge, her eyes not seeing anything above. The first vial of Med-X, all of it emptied into her veins.

The feeling was more than familiar to her. It helped her forget and move on before turning back. It helped her hide, or even better, aided her in not caring. This was more than Lola could ask for.

A chance to stop caring.


	4. The Man

**A/N: **I would have had this up sooner, but it's been a hell of a week or so. Yay for job hunting and interviews that go pretty badly. Anyways, probably filler again ... this is not going how it;s supposed to. Enjoy if you can! =)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four - The Man<strong>

Gabriel supposed he might have been dying, once. He supposed that this was why he was forced to spit blood onto the ground whenever he coughed, why his skin was getting paler and paler and why now, he could see broken veins appearing on his face, spotted with purple and black. He bruised too easily and some days, it hurt him just to walk.

Gabriel supposed he might have been dying before he had made his pilgrimage. Before he had been saved. So really, the prospect of death wasn't so terrifying to him anymore.

The man who had approached him had never pretended that once he was absolved he would also be cured – he had explained that death was still final, that there was nothing he could do to prevent it, though he could delay it. Gabriel had never really been sure of how long it would take for him to die. He had assumed it would happen soon enough, and that it would be somewhat painful. It was the end. There was nothing more. He had not lived the way he had wanted to live, he had too many regrets, but at least death would mean there was nothing else for him to think about.

He had never once expected a single person to change his fate and had given up hope of even trying. He had exiled himself, a choice rather than necessity, and simply assumed that people would forget who he was.

"You're doing well," the doctor signaled that he could sit up, and Gabriel obliged, not bothering to respond to her. All of this to keep him alive for a while longer. All of this to make sure that he did not die before they needed him again, and they surely would. It wasn't what he had expected. What he had been promised was far different than what he had eventually received, but he didn't know whether he should feel cheated. It wasn't as though he had truly lost out on anything.

The first reward he had been promised was wealth, which all in all seemed like a strange gift to offer a dying man. When he pointed out that he had no use for caps, there was the inevitable change in offering, the man giving him the chance to live out the rest of his days in nothing short of luxury, and it took Gabriel a moment to consider why he should accept. He demanded to know the conditions. He wanted to know, at the time, what it was he was needed for. He had half expected the answer all along, just one more person coming for him, to request a service he had been performing for years.

Just one more assassination contract for him to carry out.

He knew next to nothing about his target, and even less about where it was he was supposed to go. He had never before been called out to the Strip, so he avoided it, because he had heard too many stories from comrades, acquaintances, some of the people he might have once called friends, about how the riches could change a person. How the vice and the sin trapped those most susceptible to it in one place before condemning them to vagrancy.

Before what he thought might have been his final contract, he didn't want to know.

After it, he just didn't care anymore.

He had fired two shots, and didn't even stay long enough to witness the result. He was sure nobody had seen him, and this had turned out to be true, so it was all he could do to return to his contractor and tell him the job was done, regardless of whether or not she really was dead. Chances were she wasn't, but who was to know? He had done his job.

But word traveled fast, and Gabriel realized that, now. He realized that he had made a mistake, but he just hadn't expected anyone else to be there. He hadn't expected anyone to follow her, so he had panicked – out of practice, unused to jobs like the one he had been given to do, Gabriel had panicked and pulled the trigger a little too quickly, and perhaps now, he regretted it, because that was most likely why he had to attend regular examinations. Why his body was pumped full of more chems than he knew existed, in an effort to keep him alive. They were going to have him hunt her down and finish her off, and he wasn't sure of how he felt about that.

"You can go, now," he didn't move from the bench, though. He didn't much care about whether or not he was free to go, because what else was there for him, really?

Yes, he might have been dying, once. Yes, he might have been absolved of whatever sin was responsible for his sickness. That did not mean his burden had been lifted, because now, he was forced to consider what would happen after he did as they asked. After the careful planning, the infiltration, the gunshots, watching her die. After that, it seemed as though there was nothing left, just welcoming death alongside unpleasant memories.

"Gabriel?"

"What?" the doctor shook her head as he snapped at her, finally lifting himself from the bench and fastening his shirt back up. The remainder of the day, spent cleaning his guns. Keeping them in perfect working condition so that he could go and kill a woman who had never done any harm to him, personally.

"I said you can go," he nodded, without saying anything else to the doctor, with her dark hair scraped back of her pallid face, blood – his – stippled across her white shirt.

He knew what he would be asked to do next. He guessed he could do worse than spend the rest of his day at the firing range, as opposed to cleaning the weapons he was going to be using, but all the same, his heart just didn't seem to be in it anymore. If he was alone and living well, he would have been happy. He would have been satisfied, still alone, comfortable, content in his own world where he didn't have to be constantly reminded about what it was that he had done; where he didn't have to wake up knowing that the next day could be the day he was sent out to kill. Or the next.

This wasn't Gabriel's life, though, not anymore. Now, he was just another slave to the system that he had mistakenly bought into.

"Don't forget to take your medication, Gabriel," nothing. He didn't much care about what it was that she was saying, just that he was free to go. The best course of action would be for him to stop taking his medication, but he knew what would happen if he did that. More chems next time around. An extended effort to keep him alive.

He nodded at the people he passed, if only because they all knew and respected him, now. He was going to be revered.

Gabriel supposed he might have been dying, once. But he supposed that when he had been dying, he had also been more at peace than he was now.


End file.
